His Vengeful Tradwife Novel – It was a DM that started it all: Girl to girl, I think you ought to know what your husband is doing. It looked like it had been taken with a camera phone, and in it was a blurry picture of my tall, gorgeous husband Maverick Laurent bending down to smooch his bitchy coworker Amanda Miller. There was more, too. His big hand on her tight little hip, her arms around his neck. That night I got into his phone and checked it. Like a good little cheater, he had deleted all his text threads, but one little check into his Recently Deleted folder found a regular treasure trove of pictures of Amanda. She certainly had been busy, hadn’t she? Undressed pictures in almost every pose and configuration, with my husband presumably slobbering over all of them.
I can tell she’s close. Almost there. By this time, I know her body almost as well as I know my own. I rotate my hips, thrusting deeper into Amanda’s private part as she wraps her legs around me. We’re both slick, dripping with sweat, after hours of intercourse, but I want to bring her there one more time. She’s the love of my life. I can feel her cherry rubbing against my belly, and her head falls back onto the pillow as her climax hits. I groan, the feel of her soft, warm part milking me, the tight squeeze of her inner walls pulling a gasping ecstatic release from me as she always does. We gasp in tandem and collapse onto the bed together, our breaths in unison, our hearts beating as one.
I gently brush her dark hair from her forehead and smooch her, letting my lips linger on hers. “I love you,” I say. “Mi amour. My soulmate.” “I love you too,” Amanda says, burying her nose in my neck and snuggling closer. “I wish I could have this all the time,” I complain, as I always do. “Look how you fit into my arms so perfectly.” She wraps her arm around my chest, both of us sticky and sweaty, but not caring. We just want to be close to each other. Then she rolls onto her elbows and looks at me. I stroke her cheek. It never gets boring looking at Amanda, with her sleek brunette hair, fringe, and snapping dark eyes. She’s one of the other lawyers at my firm, a brilliant, stunningly intelligent barrister with a razor-sharp mind.
“We can,” she says in her direct way. “Once you stop worrying about her feelings and tell your wife you want a divorce.” I hesitate, and nod slowly. “I know I need to. It’s just hard. She’s the mother of my children, you know? And it’s going to devastate her, shatter her whole world.” Amanda smooches me, her lips lingering, affectionate. “I know, but isn’t it better for her to find out the truth that she’s in a loveless marriage? And it’s not fair to you to have to live a lie. Besides, it’s not good for the kids to grow up with two parents who don’t love each other.” “I know,” I ground out. Amanda’s right. “You’re such a good man,” she says, getting up out of bed and rummaging for her cigarettes. “But you deserve to be happy, too.” I watch her lithe, flexible body as she moves around the kitchen, and I can already feel my manhood twitching, even though I’m 40 years old and we’ve been having intercourse all afternoon.
It’s rare we get an afternoon together so we wanted to make the most of it. She snaps on the TV as I get up too, pulling my pants back on over my half-hard manhood. And, wouldn’t you know, but there’s my wife, getting interviewed by the local news. “And now,” the news anchor chirps, “we’re so lucky to have Tallulah Laurent here, who runs the wildly popular A Pinch of Ginger tradwife TikTok channel, and I believe today she’s going to teach us how to bake the perfect macarons.” Amanda clears her throat in disgust. “It’s all so backwards and patriarchal. She’s literally performing for the male gaze.” She shudders. “We’ve come so far and it’s women like your wife who want to send us back to the 1950s. Just because I have private part doesn’t mean I’m going to cook for you.”
I laugh at her passion. “I love your mind,” I say. “You’re the smartest person I know.” I rub her back as we just stand in the kitchen, holding each other. Two people madly in love. “Do you think she has any idea?” Amanda asks. “Any idea that things aren’t peachy-keen perfect in her little queendom?” “I don’t think so,” I say. My jaw aches from clenching it all the time. I know we can’t go on like this. But my wife has adored me ever since we got married 9 years ago. I know it’s the right thing to do, and it’s the only way I’ll ever be happy, but I still haven’t pulled the plug yet. Maybe it’s just because I don’t want to deal with all the crying and tears, the way she’ll beg me to stay. “How many more years of your life do you want to waste talking about macarons?” Amanda demands. And, finally, I nod my head. “All right,” I say. “I’ll tell her today.”
When I finally arrive home, my balls are empty but my suit is still immaculate. I’ve been cheating on her for almost 6 months now and it’s easy enough to cover my tracks, but it’s exhausting. It ends now. I’ll feel a lot better if I just tell her the truth. It’s late when I get home, and Talullah and the kids have already eaten. I can see my dinner carefully wrapped in tinfoil and warming on the stove, as my wife always does when I have to work late. Which, between my latest cases and snatching any time I can with Amanda, has been happening a lot lately. My wife is sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of tea and organizing her box of dress patterns. It looks like she’s got another sewing project going. The baby is probably already asleep and the other kids are playing in the backyard. “Tallulah,” I say, my voice suddenly sounding scratchy and strained.
She looks up. In all ways, my wife is the opposite of Amanda. While Amanda is tall, lithe, and dresses in professional black or dark clothes, Tallulah has long auburn hair, creamy pale skin, and an hourglass figure that she always dresses in old-fashioned or pinup clothes. “We need to talk.” She nods her head. “Yes, Maverick? What did you want to say to me?” I pull the chair across from her out and sit down. Oh, god, I’m about to destroy her life in a few short words, but I don’t want to hurt her, not really. I just want out. For the last few seconds before her world is shattered, I pause to make sure I find the right words. I still care about her very deeply, of course, and don’t want to give her unnecessary pain. We’ve had a good 9 years.
But Amanda is my soulmate. I think it’s best to just rip off the bandage. “Talullah, I want a divorce. I’m just not happy with you anymore, and I’m tired of pretending I am. And I’m sorry, but nothing you can say will change my mind. I’ve thought this for a long time.” My heart is pounding faster than I expected after my little speech, and the blood is rushing in my ears. About now is when I should start feeling free. Finally, after so many months, I’ve admitted the truth. But instead of dissolving into tears, my wife’s face doesn’t change expression at all. “All right, Maverick,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “If that’s what you want we can go to the lawyer’s tomorrow.” – It was a DM that started it all. Girl to girl, I think you ought to know what your husband is doing Actually, ‘girl to girl,’ I absolutely did not, but I clicked the picture anyway.
It looked like it had been taken with a camera phone, and in it was a blurry picture of my tall, gorgeous husband Maverick Laurent bending down to smooch his bitchy pain-in-the-hip coworker Amanda Miller. It felt like I had been stabbed with a knife, a pain that first seemed like only a shallow wound revealing itself as deep and lasting, the pain curling like tendrils around my heart and crushing it. There was more, too. More pictures of them walking up to the office looking way closer than two platonic coworkers should. One picture from my helpful anonymous friend showing Maverick and Amanda just as the elevator closed, his big hand on her tight little hip, her arms around his neck. My informant was obviously his legal firm’s secretary, who had never liked Amanda. So that’s what 10 years together meant, did it?
That night I got into his phone and checked it. Like a good little cheater, he had deleted all his text threads, but one little check into his Recently Deleted folder found a regular treasure trove of pictures of Amanda. She certainly had been busy, hadn’t she? Undressed pictures in almost every pose and configuration, with my husband presumably slobbering over all of them. Then I checked his Snapchat account. The clever boy obviously was expecting them to be deleted, but it hadn’t been quite long enough, and I saw plenty. He didn’t love me anymore. He and Amanda had been secretly intercourse for months. He loved her. He wanted to be with her. Amanda clearly thought of me as some air head bimbo, but Maverick? He didn’t seem to think of me at all except as the mother of his children and a deadweight. I put the phone carefully down and went into the shower. Even though it was late at night, I ran the shower as loudly as I could and I sobbed until my skin was pink and wrinkled with the heat and water. Then I got back in bed beside my sleeping husband.
The next morning, I prepared Eggs Benedict for us and strawberry waffles for the kids. Some women believe that silly old wives’ tale that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach Amanda had texted, adding as if there aren’t a thousand places to get brunch within a two-block radius of the office to which brilliant insight Maverick had given a thumbs-up. I ate my Eggs Benedict as usual, even though it tasted like nothing and my stomach revolted against me. After he left, I dropped my two oldest, 7-year-old Gabriel and 5-year-old Seraphina off at school, then 2-year-old Emmylou at my dad’s where my stepmom watched him. Then it was time to figure out what exactly was in my prenup. My TikTok channel A Bit of Ginger had been skyrocketing in popularity when we got married, and my lawyer and business manager had insisted on me getting a prenup.
I had barely noticed what was in it, because it was impossible for me to imagine that I would ever split with the man who loved me with such intense, focused devotion. Well, now it had hit the fan. A Bit of Ginger was worth a cool $20 million and I wanted to be protected. Who would have imagined that when I first started the channel, I had only been looking for an excuse to talk about one of my favorite things in the world, FOOD. But my cooking videos, where I prepared a variety of foods from all countries of the world in what I loved best to wear–1950s style clothes–were so popular I was soon inundated with sponsorship and paid creator offers. It turned out that the prenup had been organized very strangely. This seemed like the most sensible way to distribute the joint assets, my lawyer said defensively. Joint assets? Maverick hadn’t done anything to help me.